


To Feel Your Touch Again

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Divorce, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Musicalbabes, Pining, Reconciliation, Time Skips, beetlebabes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23920969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: Beetlejuice and Lydia's marriage lasted only one year to the day. Now in college fate throws them together yet again. Can they overcome what drove them apart in the first place?
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 27
Kudos: 91





	1. The Cost of Loving Someone

**Author's Note:**

> Based on musings from a fandom friend. This one's for you Moca! Hope you like it!

They hadn’t known their marriage would be binding. If she had, she never would have tried bringing him to life merely to get rid of him. If he had, he would have seriously rethought the whole concept of marriage. What was the point of a green card if he couldn’t go out and really live life? Regardless, back as a member of the dead, Beetlejuice was stuck in the house, much the same as any normal ghost or spirit was. At least this place had people who could see him, small consolation that it was. Just because they could see him though, didn’t mean they liked to acknowledge his presence. He often had to resort to petty pranks and scares just to hear his name being said. The sweet sound of exasperation and a well played prank. And pranks were what he’d been reduced to. House rules. Not that he cared much for rules, but Lydia had asked him not to kill anyone else in the house who wasn’t already dead. And Lydia was his best friend, his partner, his wife, he could do that much for her. Lydia was the only one who more than tolerated his presence, she actively sought him out, for more than just petty revenge or scaring schemes. Lydia was the only mortal in the house he gave a damn about, and it was the reason being stuck inside didn’t chafe as much as it would have otherwise. Her, and the fact that he could always escape to the roof.

As twisted and mean as she could be, Lydia had a real sense of empathy. She felt to a depth that eluded most breathers. It was why she could see spirits, why she’d been able to con him in the first place. Empathy meant feeling the emotions as though they were your own, and Lydia understood him on a level no one else could. Which meant that she felt bad, because she had done her part in getting him stuck here, even though the fault lay more squarely on his shoulders. But she’d been the first to forgive him, when she had every right not to. Lydia was worth ten of everyone else in that house on the hill. He’d bet all the money he didn’t have on it. There were other benefits too, namely, that being married to a teenage girl with two overprotective father figures in the house and a history of doing whatever the fuck she liked made for some interesting questions as she began to really explore her sexuality. Questions that lead to some fun exploration. And before he knew it, they were what you could rightly call a couple.

He liked the idea of that, namely because it pissed ol’ Chuck and Adam off to no end. To face them every morning after making Lydia scream the night before, knowing they had to have heard it, it was the best feeling in the world. Well, second best considering he now knew how it felt to bone Lydia Deetz. But the big problem with breathers, and teenage girl breathers especially, was that sex always had to “mean something” whatever she’d meant by that. He noticed that something in his friend, wife, whatever she was, had changed. Crass comments about Babs or Delia, normally met with a bemused eye roll, now earned him a glare. As did any teasing touches he placed on the women. Touches that usually earned him a smack across the face regardless, now left her sulking and in a bad mood for the rest of the afternoon, sometimes the evening. Lustful comments made about the women in the commercials on TV or in the horror movies they loved to watch would usually pause any mid-movie makeout session permanently. And god forbid he “misused” her laptop. Anytime she caught him watching porn -an everyday occurrence given his house arrest and the bland as white bread people he was stuck with aside from her- resulted in an hour long screaming fest that usually led to angry sex followed by makeup sex.

It was the worst when school “friends” came to call. Too many hot girls in skimpy school girl uniforms, with Lydia being the only one who could see him, and she expected him to _not_ take advantage of his status and perv? The stifling heat that would cause jackets to be shed and shirts to be unbuttoned, leaving nothing but thin camisoles and maybe the occasional bra underneath them? Slutty plaid skirts with that single strip of skin between their hems and the edge of the uniform socks? And she wanted him to look away? Private school girls usually had the kinkiest shit going on and she wanted him to play _nice_? He was a demon, he didn’t fucking do nice. If she wanted him to play nice she wouldn’t be putting him through a cock teaser like this. Really, this was on her, and he didn’t give a fuck how many angry glares she sent his way as he peeked under skirts and tried to encourage a little girl on girl action for his own amusement. Nor was he paying attention when she lectured him for the millionth time later on that night. Whatever she was mad about was a breather thing, and therefore, not really any of his concern.

Meanwhile, Lydia Deetz was slowly but surely growing fed up with her late husband. Sure, it was one thing to know he was a pervert. The Maitlands had certainly had enough stories about that side of him, and had given her plenty. The problem was that all that had done was fuel her curiosities. Their marriage was legal, binding, it meant anything she did with him was -on paper at least- completely fine in the eyes of society. He was her husband, she was his wife. Whatever they did was completely within the bounds of their relationship. She’d forgiven him for all he’d done, because she’d done just as terrible things to him. He’d been her only friend upon her arrival in Winter River, and as a few months had passed after his return he’d been so uniquely himself that it had been grotesquely charming. Even the perverted stuff. They’d stranded an incorrigible pervert in a house with some of the blandest, vanilla people on the planet. And seeing him miserable, it had been cute. Like an ugly puppy, something she wasn’t supposed to find endearing but did anyways. Platonic fondness had coupled with sexual curiosity, and when she’d experienced sex with him, it had sealed the deal. As she had settled into his arms that first night, comforted and less sore than she might have expected because of how considerate and courteous he’d been with her, she’d felt the spark in her heart. Lydia Deetz had fallen in love. With her dead, pervert, blackmailing and extortionist con of a husband.

And with love, came jealousy. Clearly, whatever she’d thought they’d shared had been missed by him. But then, guys were stupid. Beetlejuice especially because up until their wedding he’d never really experience feelings on any level beyond performative in order to get what he wanted. So Lydia knew she needed to be patient with him. It was a steep learning curve after all, and in time he would surely realize how much she cared about him, and how much he cared about her back. She already knew she was special to him, she hadn’t come back from hell to find Delia getting married to him. That had to mean he hadn’t wanted just a green card from her right? If it was about living, he’d had another option, two if one counted Otho and presumed the rules just said a living person without specific regard to sex or gender. He’d been ready to kill people after she’d run from him, and she hadn’t imagined the soft, disbelieving way he’d said her name as she’d come back to him. She knew she hadn’t, it was the kind of emotion even he couldn’t have faked. That all had to mean _something_ , didn’t it?

Maybe she was overthinking things. But he’d been so determined to have her and only her as his wife, there was something behind it. She knew it, she could feel it. There was no way to misinterpret that. She hadn’t for a second believed him when he’d said it was a green card thing, especially since he hadn’t been invisible at that point in their time together. And there were times he showed her a softer side to him, a side he’d never show anyone else. A juiced up black rose just for her, just because, coming home to a bed made even though she knew she’d left it a tangle of blankets and sheets as she’d raced around getting ready earlier that morning and everyone else was explicitly not allowed in her room, the way he’d hold her, kiss her, the fervency in his caress, the way he’d undress her carefully instead of just juicing off her clothes to be thought about later. How gentle he was and how he always made sure she felt good before even thinking about himself. Those weren’t the actions of someone who didn’t care, they just couldn’t be.

It couldn’t all be a lie, not the words he whispered to her, the compliments he paid in lips and teeth and touch, all of them telling her she was beautiful, she was desirable, she was _his_. Lydia refused to believe it. But, they did say that actions spoke louder than words, and as for his actions when they weren’t having sex, well… The comments and physical harassment to Delia and Barbara were annoying, but something that could be overlooked. If only because she knew for a fact he did that more to get a rise out of them than because he actually wanted sex from either of them. The routine was old hat at this point. And yet, the more Lydia saw it, the more it began to annoy her. He never did that to her, which logically thinking about it meant that he respected her more than anyone. And yet, irrationally and emotionally, it needled at her. And the behavior escalated, or rather, she just noticed it more. The comments he would make on the actresses in movies and commercials, crude and objectifying, all technically bad but again, those women were in a sense selling themselves, selling their looks for fame and fortune. But did she really need to hear about some hot blonde’s giant fake tits giggling all over the screen as she got slashed up right as they were in the middle of a horror movie makeout session?

Lydia was many things; she was strange, she was unusual, she was kind and cruel, and a melancholic beauty in her own right. Dead Mom had once said her daughter reminded her of those paintings of Hamlet’s Ophelia, a tragic beauty made only more beautiful by sorrow. But she was not, nor would she ever be, a supermodel. She wasn’t tall, for one thing, nor was she overly busty or curvaceous in any way. She had assets, but she was more on the side of what a lot of people would call boney or scrawny, an assessment not helped by the fact her typical fashion choices tended more towards blocky and formless. Barbara and Delia had tried to tell her on more than one occasion that she wasn’t any of those things, she was simply petite and delicate and that the right person would always recognize her beauty for what it was, beyond simple looks. But Lydia didn’t want to wait for the “right person” because she knew she had him here. He understood her in a way that few other people did, and to a depth that those people didn’t. They were kindred spirits, united by pain and the loneliness and isolation of being invisible to everyone around them. Who else would ever be able to relate to something like that?

But the feelings of insecurity were compounded by his own actions. The fact that her new maternal figures had the traditionally desired hourglass shape to them, the fact that the models and actresses on the screens did too. And perhaps the worst times were coming home from school to find him watching porn on her laptop. She knew the rumors, only women who couldn’t satisfy had men who turned to porn to get themselves off. And naturally, all those women on the screens weren’t scrawny, flat-chested goth girls. They were the Claire Brewsters of the world, blonde, blue-eyed, perfectly manicured cat claws that could stroke and tease and caress and leave trails of tingling nerves in their wake. Girls with legs that went on for miles and plastic asses that one could grab hold of and slap with a nice resound echo and image of jiggle gracing their screens. The women with makeup that remained flawless even as they got doused in all manner of bodily fluids and they clamored for more.

But those were women. She was still on the younger side right? Even in most pornos, the actresses playing teenage girls were in actuality full grown women. It was the fantasy they brought, not the reality of it. So his attraction was to fully grown women, which she wasn’t just yet. It was an easy explanation, and Lydia should have known that with Beetlejuice things never came easy. When she had to do group projects with other school mates, and he would perv and letch on them all the while knowing he couldn’t be seen. Except for the fact that she could see him, and she could see his antics even as the big chested bimbos she often had to work with played right into his hands and he incited their reactions for his own amusement. The only thing better than a recorded porn was having a front row seat to it. And naturally, he never tried anything with her. He was always to busy trying to make the buttons on her schoolmates’ uniforms bust, or their short skirts to ride just a little higher. And they had curves, legs, everything Lydia didn’t have, just like all the other girls.

Getting mad at him rarely did much. She’d scream and yell and he’d ignore her or scream about nothing in particular just to make some noise and then they’d somehow end up fucking out their frustrations, waking up in the middle of the night to reconcile and then they’d fuck again. Was she wrong for believing that sex had to mean something? It meant something to her. Giving of herself for him freely was the way she connected with him, felt what he would never with words say. And yet, it didn’t seem to mean anything to him. Nothing did, sex, porn, perving, pranks, it all seemed to be nothing more than a way to pass the time, to spend his existence now that he was stuck in the house. Was she nothing more than a whim to him? A convenient fuck buddy? Did the ring he put on her finger mean _nothing_ to him?

She knew that time meant very little to the dead. That hours, seconds, days or weeks could go by in the blink of an eye without even realizing it. She didn’t begrudge him not remembering Christmas, or Valentine’s Day, or even her birthday. But the straw that really broke the camel’s back was their anniversary. Their first anniversary. Together for a whole entire year, technically, Lydia was willing to celebrate it because it wasn’t as though she had really remembered or made note of the first time she’d realized she’d had feelings for him. And she’d gone out of her way to make sure it would be special. Because she knew days of the week meant nothing to him, she’d put on her uniform and headed out the door as if it were an ordinary day. But instead of going to school -since it was the weekend and was closed- Lydia changed clothes in the garage and headed out to do her errands. Certain packages had arrived and had been stowed away for tonight. She’d told the Maitlands she’d be back by four but if they could please keep him occupied until seven she’d be able to get everything ready.

She stopped at the sweets store first, picking up the box of chocolate covered crickets she’d ordered, then to the hardware store so it looked like she’d taken longer than usual getting home and even if Beej did catch her he wouldn’t be as suspicious, she wandered around town getting some new reference photos for Adam’s model, and finally headed to the bookshop to pick up her last package. It had been a very hard and arduous task to locate the book she received there. A lot of late night conversations with various powers, but if her sources could be trusted, this book would contain the precise spell she needed for today. On her way home she stopped by the local jewelry store to pick up the item she’d been hesitant to purchase. A custom black metal wedding band. One to match the ring he’d given her a year ago.

Boxes in hand and in her coat pocket Lydia hurriedly returned home, rushing through the house and up to her room. Sounds from up above in the attic meant the Maitlands were probably still occupying her husband, which meant Lydia should go ahead and get ready. A shower to brush off the dust of the day, special care taken with every facet of her outfit, making sure to incorporate his stripes into her look, and new, expensive underwear that enhanced what comparatively little she had to work with, followed by even further care taken with her makeup to give her just the right amount of sultry pout in her lips and eyes. Stockings clipped to her garters and feet placed into the shoes Lydia took a look at herself in the bathroom mirror. She was ready, now all she had to do was set the room up.

On a cleared space of floor Lydia followed the book’s instructions and drew the ritual circle as depicted, carefully copying every single symbol. She placed candles in the appointed spots around the outer edge and then set the closed ring box inside it. She wasn’t expecting a plethora of gifts in return for this. Besides, it was as much a selfish gift as it was a selfless one. For their anniversary, Lydia was planning to give him his freedom. Sort of, at the very least she was planning to expand his haunting parameters to the entirety of Winter River rather than him being confined to the house. It was relatively difficult, but between the book’s knowledge and his own powers she was certain it would work. And then he’d see, he’d see how much she cared for him, and he’d realize how much he cared for her in return. She could imagine it now, all the wonderful dates they’d be able to go on, all the scaring of poor unsuspecting saps they’d be able to do, all the fun they’d be able to have. Yes, it was a perfect gift.

Bookmarking the spell page with a black silk ribbon Lydia brushed down her skirts and looked at the clock. Well, it was a bit early, but everything was ready, all she needed was her husband. And sounds from above meant he was still bothering the Maitlands. Well, time to relieve them of their duty. Lydia strode up to the attic, knocking on the door and opening it,

“Oh Beetlejuice,” she called out, eager to share her gift with him, “Do you know what day today is… What the hell is going on in here?”

Lydia’s emotions immediately shifted from eager and happy to shock, followed swiftly by betrayal and anger. Because the sight she had stumbled in on was not one any spouse should find their partner in. Barbara was down to the shift under her dress, Adam was shirtless, and so was her husband. But Adam and Barbara looked horrified and traumatized as they immediately dove for their clothes and with trembling hands attempted to redress. Clearly, whatever they’d been in the middle of was something they _hadn’t_ wanted. But Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice just looked somewhere between smug and annoyed at the interruption. Of course, when he saw _who_ it was that had interrupted him he began to backtrack,

“Hey! Babes!” his voice was higher than normal, clearly an attempt to bring some sort of levity to the situation, “What are ya doin’ home so early? Thought you’d be out for another couple of hours,”

“I. Finished. Early,” she replied, each word coming out halting as her mind went into overdrive trying to process her emotions and settle on a predominant one, “Today’s our anniversary,” she added, for lack of anything else to say.

“Oh is it?” Beetlejuice shrugged, snapping the remaining pieces of his suit on and shrugging lackadaisically, “How ‘bout that,”

“It’s our anniversary,” Lydia repeated, slowly starting to feel something beyond the numbness of shock, “And you decide to cheat on me with my surrogate parents!”

She could feel her hands clench into fists and begin to shake with rage. Seriously? Everything she did for him and this was how he spent his time waiting for her to get back? Trying to fuck someone else?

“Okay, first of all, cheating is a breather thing, and as I am not breathin’ I ain’t cheatin’,” Beetlejuice listed off, “Two, believe me, these schmucks are far down on the list of people I’d sooner fuck, but,” he shrugged again, “I’m stuck in the house, options are kinda limited.”

“Options?” her voice was getting higher now, but not trying to bring lightness into the situation. It was because her throat was getting tighter and tighter with her anger. She had to fold her arms to try and control how the shaking had now moved to encompass her entire body at this point, “You are married,” she hissed through her teeth, “There is only one option, and it’s _me_.”

“Pfft,” Beetlejuice scoffed, “That ain’t an option, it’s a damn restriction. And if it weren’t for this BS marriage of ours, I’d be out, with all the options I wanted instead of just,” he waved a careless hand over in her direction, “You,”

You. Just you. Lydia in his eyes was only a just. Nothing special, nothing extraordinary, not even anything strange or unusual. She was just. Just not enough apparently. No matter what she said, what she did. She would never be enough. Even the rage was numb now, slowly cracking under the heavy weight of sorrow. But she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of letting him see her cry. Of letting him see just how deeply he’d hurt her with her words. Lydia turned on her heel, and stalked back to her room. Belatedly she heard him call after her,

“Hey! We ain’t done yet!”

Done. He wasn’t done with her yet. But she was. Done. Done with him. Done with their marriage. Done with everything. Lydia slammed the door behind her, picked up the ring box from the center of the circle and held it a moment, hand shaking with rage and sorrow. All this work, all this care, and he didn’t have any to return to her. With a sound of heartbroken dismay, Lydia chucked the box as hard as she could against the wall and collapsed onto her bed. That was when she felt the weight of the book beneath her. This book, this damn book, work and money and time wasted, to try and make him happy. Because making him happy made _her_ happy. But no more. No. More.

There were plenty of spells in the spell book, and Lydia had seen there had been several ways in which to give her husband what he wanted. But before she could find the right page however, Beetlejuice stormed in,

“Hey, babes, what the fuck crawled up your crotch and died?”

Lydia’s eyes were daggers as she glared at him. Still not having gotten to the page she left the book on the bed, stormed over, and yanked at his tie. He jerked with the motion, clearly not expecting the action nor the strength her rage had given her. Without a sound, she dragged him over to the spell circle and pushed him into it, uncaring if he fell on his ass. She returned to her search, hurriedly flipping through pages looking for the spell. He wanted freedom? Well she’d give it to him. That had been her plan all along. Her first anniversary present to him, and now, her last.

The spell in question was similar to the one she’d originally been planning to use, but instead of expanding a haunting perimeter, this was going to break it entirely. Because she was going to break the thing restricting him; their marriage. No more worries, no more hours agonizing over her own insecurities, no more feeling lonely and isolated because she felt like she was the only one giving until there was nothing left to give.

Beetlejuice honestly didn’t know what had gotten into Lydia. After ditching him to go do fuck all whatever all day, he’d decided to amuse himself by seeing if he could finally convince the Maitlands to give in and let him fuck them. He knew it was kind of a fruitless endeavor, those two were way too straight and vanilla to ever consider the possibility of anything other than two person missionary. But it was a way to pass the time. Using magic to torment them on their projects and then later strip them of their clothes just to see their horrified expressions as she tried frantically to get the garments back. And he’d stripped just because. He honestly hadn’t been expecting Lydia to be home so early, and what the fuck was with her? He noticed the outfit, which looked new, but he didn’t understand why.

When she explained that their anniversary was today he’d shrugged. He’d thought those were bad memories she wouldn’t want to commemorate, so why bring it up at all? And then she was getting all bent out of shape for cheating on her, on their anniversary. And again, their wedding day wasn’t something he would have considered a happy memory for anyone involved; whoop dee doo he’d been stuck in this damn house a whole year, but she was acting as though it meant something. Not to mention the cheating. Here was the thing though, as he’d explained countless times to her when she was too mad to probably remember that demons didn’t do monogamy, it was about sin and temptation and pleasure. Monogamy was an seraphim thing, not a demon thing. But here she was, all upset and hurt, and frankly he was getting tired of the petty jealousy over his inherent nature. So he’d been as biting as she was, and then she’d stormed out.

Which had honestly not been the way he’d expected this to go. He’d thought she’d storm in, slap him across the face, proceed to angry makeouts turned sex as he poofed them back into her room followed by cathartic makeup sex and then they’d be good, just as they always were. But no, instead Lydia had stormed out and he wasn’t done arguing with her yet. So he gave chase. He found her in her room, flipping through a big, heavy, ancient looking book. And when he’d confronted her again she put the book down, come over and yanked him by the tie like he was a dog on a damn leash. She’d dragged him over to one spot in her room and then without warning swung him around and pushed him. He’d stumbled back, ready to fall over but something held his feet firmly to the floor. He looked down to see a spell circle around him, the candles lit and burning. Just what the hell had she been planning in here?

Lydia continued flipping through the pages, and now he was starting to get worried. That book was old enough to have some spells in it that might actually harm him, “Uh… babes?” he tried for geniality, stay on the better side of his wife’s temper. She already had him in a bind, literally, no reason to go digging his own grave here, “What are you doing?”

What are you doing? A fine question. Lydia laughed mirthlessly as she found the right spell and spared him a glance, “Giving you exactly what you want Beej,” she told him, “You want freedom? Well, you’ve got it,”

Her heart began to pound as she slowly tangled her tongue around the Latin incantation. With every word that came forth the energy in the room began to build, a wind developing and slowly stirring the objects in the room. Lydia felt something within her pulling tighter and tighter, the pressure building until it was enough to suffocate in. And with the utterance of the last line; snap! Something in her broke, and Lydia felt like her heart was going to explode. She collapsed onto her bed, feeling a keen sting on her left hand, where her wedding ring resided. Letting out a sharp hiss she brought the hand close to her chest and curled in on herself. And that was when she finally allowed herself to cry. At the pain of the ritual, of letting him go, of knowing that he could never love her, not in the way she loved him, and for a broken heart she wasn’t sure could ever be mended. But it was over, she was done, and he was finally free.

Whatever magic she’d messed with had really taken a lot out of her. It hadn’t affected him, not to the degree it had hit her. But then, these things always had a price to pay, and the caster was always the one who had to pony up. But he’d felt it, that line, that connection, something that had been there had been broken. Except he didn’t know what it had been. Even so, Lydia looked like she’d nearly killed herself performing him, and damn him if he didn’t have a soft spot for the little mortal he’d married. With the spell complete he could leave the circle, and immediately he floated over to check on her,

“Babes?” he questioned, slowly reaching out a hand, “You alright?”

“Don't. Touch. Me.” Lydia snarled in response. She was still too raw, too drained, too vulnerable to muster anything more than all the contempt this heartbreak had wrought. She couldn’t even look at him right now, this wound was hemorrhaging and bleeding out.

When she said not to touch her, something within him physically stopped. And despite his best effort, he couldn’t make his arm cross that gap and reassure her. Whatever she’d done, she’d done it to both of them. The question was,

“What the hell have you done?”

Again, a mirthless chuckle escaped her. Everything she’d done, she’d done for him. And he still needed it explained?

“I gave you exactly what you wanted Beetlejuice,” she enunciated, slowly rising from her fetal position just long enough to glare at him a final time, “You wanted out, and now you have it. I’m done, and so is our marriage. You’re free to roam wherever you damn well please and letch on whoever you want. Now get. Out.”

Freedom. He had freedom. He was free. But why did it feel like this freedom had come at such a cost? Lydia didn’t want to be married to him anymore, that had been what this was all about right? That was the surprise? The importance of celebrating their wedding anniversary just to end it? And here she was supposedly all bent out of shape for cheating? He didn’t understand her in that moment, but knew anger when he heard it. She just needed some time to cool off. Being divorced didn’t mean they still couldn’t be friends. This had all been nothing but a failed green card thing from the start, and clearly they worked better as friends than as a couple. She’d get over the magical backlash and be calling on him in less than a week. He’d bet money on it. In the meantime, he was off to explore the world, finally free from the land of funless schmucks.

When she heard the soft pop signaling his departure, Lydia let out a shuddery sigh. She slowly raised her left hand, cradling it in her right as she sat on the bed. And as she looked at the black metal band with its blood red gemstone, Lydia began to cry.


	2. Ghosts of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2, hope you like it!

Time meant very little to the dead. It meant everything to the living though. How many years had it been since she's last seen him? Two at least, was she going on three? She tried not to think about it, tried not to think about _him_. Because heavens knew, he wasn't thinking about her. The skeeze was probably out whoring his way across the country, across the globe at this point.

Lydia had moved on too. She'd graduated from Miss Shannon’s, headed to college. Started over fresh, her macabre style and general nonconformity fitting well on the liberal arts school she'd chosen. She was studying photography, and the campus had some pretty and historic cemeteries she often used as the focal points of her pieces.

Delia and Barbara had been right. Here at school, there were plenty of guys who saw beyond looks and had taken an interest in her. But Lydia kept her distance for now, enough to string them along through various girlfriends obviously only taken to make her jealous and attract her attention. Lydia found the behavior reminiscent of things and people she didn't want to remember, so at most she didn't react. It kept them interested; who was she not to be jealous by them dating someone else? The truth was that there was very little now Lydia cared about beyond her family and her photography. She'd learned firsthand what caring could do, and it was an experience she wasn't keen to repeat again. She still had the mark, the mark of caring too much. His ring, still on her finger. It had been the price she’d had to pay. Severing her connection to the man she’d married, apparently it could be done, but the opinion was that it _shouldn’t_. And for that, she’d carry the momento of what she’d once thought to be his affections on her person always, never able to take it off no matter what she did. If her distinct lack of immediate interest didn’t put most potential partners off, the very much looking wedding ring usually did.

But the school was fun, otherwise, mindless parties to get drunk at, engaging classes and assignments, cemeteries full of spirits not yet passed on, the school even had some local ghost stories of its own. An old librarian who’d never left her job, the strange occurrences in one of the dormitories, even a specter who supposedly haunted the theatres on campus, a student actor who until their death had never got the starring role. It certainly kept the boredom at bay, and the crushing loneliness that hung over her like a cloud.

Perhaps the worst part of cutting…. _Him_ out her life was not only that she’d lost the man she’d loved, she’d also lost a dearly treasured friend. And living friends just didn’t quite cut it. As over it as she was, the ache was perhaps akin to phantom limb. He hadn’t been there long, but long enough for the pain of his absence to be felt, such a natural extension to herself he had become. She’d spoken with many people, some living, some dead in the time since. Even the ghosts who remained with lost limbs said they felt the ache, that losing a piece of yourself was something that not even death could cure, and that the ache remained all the same. The wound in her heart, as far as Lydia was concerned, had healed with the passage of time, the ache and longing more a product of childish nostalgia and wistfulness rather than any true desire.

Lydia sighed, thinking about him in any capacity was not going to help her here. Everything was done and over with and so was their relationship. Dead, dead, deadski. She shouldn’t mourn a fantasy that hadn’t really existed. He had broken her, there was no possible way she could ever want him back. Stuffing her camera into her case, she decided the best way to escape her feelings was to do a bit of paraphotography. Rumor had it there was a relatively new ghost on the campus, only a couple of years here at this point. Maybe it was a stray animal, maybe it was something else. Of the few actual spirits on campus Lydia had managed to track down, no one seemed to know anything about the entity. At least, nothing they would say. All she really knew was that it preferred the rooftop attic storage space of a classroom building that had once been the main house of when the college had been a private family estate. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d managed to get ahold of some lockpicks and sneak in. The sky was dark overhead, with the moon glowing full and round in the distance. Lydia snuck into the building, bypassing the safety measures and heading out to the roof. The main exit had one of those alarm doors, but the windows were not wired to the security system. There was a sudden sense of nostalgia as she stuck her leg out through the window, the night she’d once tried to commit suicide off the roof. She still remembered the words she’d written, and murmured them under her breath as she passed through,

“By the time you read this, I; Lydia Deetz, will be gone. I have no reason to stay here, I’m an outcast, forsaken…” she bit her lip as she saw the campus laid out before her much like the yard of her then new home had been, remembered the worst night of her life and the way her heart had been shattered, “Invisible,”

It was barely a whisper. More of a gasp of bone deep pain. Because someone _had_ seen her that night on the roof, he’d just stopped when he’d lost what he’d wanted. No, no, bad Lydia. Tonight was about taking ghost pictures, not thinking about-

She paused as she saw the figure out on the roof. Hands on her camera, she glanced at them through the viewfinder and with a soft whirr and a click the image was captured on film. Lydia didn’t even think twice, but she really should have. The sound of the camera’s shutter captured the entity’s attention, and it was only when they looked at her that Lydia realized who she’d found,

“Beetlejuice?”

BJ BJ BJ

As it turned out freedom wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Matter of fact it was more as though he’d been sent back to square one; completely invisible to all but the ghosts he stumbled upon in his travels. He hadn’t expected it to feel like this. And the worst part was that he’d tried to go back, back to that boring house on the hill where at least the people could see him, but he couldn’t there was no home for him to return to. At first he hadn’t been worried, even in an argument, he and Lydia were inseparable. Peas in a pod, the best of friends, a class act like Abbott and Costello, Penn and Teller, some other intrinsic dynamic duo that couldn’t be nearly as successful separately as they were together. She’d call for him, he knew it. It was only a matter of time.

Except, she didn’t. She didn’t call on him, and no place was interesting enough to hold his attention for very long. He was a drifter, a wandering spirit. Alone. He was alone. Just like how he’d been before he met Lydia. Hindsight was truly the clearest vision because it was only now he saw what he’d been missing. Lydia, and everything she’d done for him. The laughter at jokes that weren’t funny, the smiles, the warmth. Everything he had lost that fateful anniversary date. He didn’t know what the point of that ceremony of hers had been, it was easy to say that she’d been planning to cut him loose from the start, and he’d been angry and indignant and certain that had been what she’d meant the whole time. But then, why put the effort in in the first place, it seemed like the whole day had been some big elaborate lead up to what had gotten him stuck in that little spell circle of hers. And she’d been upset, frantically looking for the incantation despite having a bookmark in the tome already.

The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that cutting her ties to him had not originally been her intention. She’d put too much effort into her appearance, and normally she only did that when she wanted his undivided attention, not that any of it had really been necessary. The more he looked back on his time in Winter River, the more he realized just how much he’d been captivated by her. Even letching about as he did, the porn actresses in his mind’s eye all had Lydia’s face, the times he skeeved on her schoolmates he kept turning his attention back to her to make sure she could see him, and that she’d be mad. He’d wanted her to be mad, because it meant she was watching him, possessive of him. It meant, that she cared. Indifference and ignorance had been something he’d spent too long with, and not enough time without. It was too easy to become complacent without truly appreciating what he’d had.

There had been pain when he’d been killed by her that day. A stabbing, searing pain, and yet it had been meaningful to him. There was still that hole through his heart, physically, and through his chest and back for that matter. And it still hurt. Not the dull throbbing of being stabbed through the chest with a blunt object though. The ache that had a distinctive shape that only fit Lydia Deetz. As he wandered he found more and more things in his memory that spoke to how much care she had for him. The jealousy was because she wanted his attention, the random bugs she brought home for him to snack on, the fact that she honestly desired his company beyond pranks, scares, and sex. He remembered the way she would just curl up in arms, ask to watch movies even without making out with him. The way she just wanted to be around him, even if they weren’t doing anything. He missed it. He missed _her_. He missed her smile, her laughter, the way she looked when she came apart at the seams for him. He missed the way she hugged, the way she kissed, the way she’d absentmindedly draw patterns on his skin when they lay together after sex, the way she’d fall asleep on him because she trusted herself to be that vulnerable around him. He’d tried to forget, tried to ignore that sensation of what he now knew to be their connection being cleaved by losing himself in the embrace of others, anyone he could find and convince to fuck him. But they all lacked one thing; they weren’t Lydia. They didn’t have her warmth, physically and otherwise, nor her allure. Call him a fool, but he hadn’t realized the little arrow notching bastard had shot him until the cure was well out of reach.

For the moment, he’d found a nice place to haunt. A college campus, one of those liberal arts dealies where the kids and their parents paid a shit ton of money for kids who could do fuck all with their time there. Arts, drugs, porn, whatever they wanted. Built off an old personal estate, it even included the original house, a fine place to haunt with just enough age to give it that worn out, displaced feeling to it. A perfect place for a displaced spook. And plenty of people getting drunk of high enough that their selfish blindness to anything beyond themselves was lowered, it meant at least a couple of entertaining scares on Friday nights. And so time passed, but new suckers were in overstock. He heard the stories about him spread, people claiming to have seen all manner of frightening things. Sometimes he got an intrepid wannabe ghost hunter coming to seek proof of the afterlife. They were easy enough to fob off with nothing more than their own shadows.

But even scaring had lost its luster without Lydia. It was hard not to think of her, the whole place was something she would have loved. Weirdos crawling out every nook and cranny, a couple of actual specters hanging around, sights, sounds, the whole nine yards, especially with no bitchy ass bottle blondes like Claire Brewster or her ilk anywhere in sight. This was not the school for normies, he’d found out they had an entire class dedicated to horror makeup for stage and screen, what fucking basic bitch would set foot on this campus? Not a single one. But Lydia would, Lydia would love it here. And she probably would have had a blast too. He could see them tearing up the scene, all the parties and illegal substance abuse they could do, all the sneaking around campus to have sex in buildings, all the fun times and memories they could have made. If only he hadn’t fucked it all up. If only he could go back in time and slap himself for suggesting there was anything less than extraordinary about his wife, for wanting anyone else besides her. For believing being free was worth more than being able to be by her side.

It was a warm night, for fall at least. They were slowly approaching his favorite time of the Breather seasons. October, Halloween, the chill in the air that made everyone just a little more conscious of the thin line between life and death, and that there may well be existence beyond it. This was the time when most people liked to dabble with powers far more dangerous than they realized, the time people wanted to test their courage and come see the specter of Carter Hall. But Beetlejuice couldn’t be bothered with roaming the dark and empty hallways tonight. Instead, he retreated to the roof, staring at the moon and lamenting his sorry state. What he wouldn’t give to be back at that house in Winter River, to be back with Lydia. To touch her and hold her and tell her how sorry he was for what he’d done. Too little, too late he supposed. He would never see her again, might as well accept that and look forward to the rest of a very lonely eternity.

He heard the slide of a window out to the roof open. Not surprising, plenty of ghost seekers had used that trick because the door was alarmed and only staff had a key that could shut it off. But if they were seeking him out on the roof he usually didn’t appear until they got disheartened and went back inside. It was a steep drop, and while broken bones were funny, dealing with newly deads was not. He turned his back and tuned out the soft mumblings of whoever it was that had come to try and get proof of ghosts on film. He was more interested in staring at the moon and lamenting what had become of his existence, and missing Lydia, always missing Lydia. The night reminded him of the night they’d met, with her sneaking out to the roof trying to off herself after discovering Delia in her darling daddy’s digs. He’d convinced her life was worth living, if only through his grovelling. But it had kept her from serving in Hell with Juno and the other stiffs for eternity. If he would ever claim credit to a single good deed regardless of the stain on his reputation, it would be that. Being a demon… ghost… zombie… thing, he wasn’t particularly pious, or one given to prayer. However, he felt the need to eschew that particular designation for the sake of Lydia. Let her be safe, let her still be her, let her live long and prosper and all that jazz. And on a slightly more selfish note, let him find his way back to her before she died.

It was then he heard a voice, soft and incredulous and painfully familiar, “Beetlejuice?”

He turned and looked at her. Time may have passed, she may have changed, but she was still Lydia, and he would always recognize her. She’d grown a bit, maybe an inch or two, still a shorty, and delicate too. She’d traded in her dresses for dark pants and a black hoodie, though he couldn’t be sure if that was her new style of choice or if she’d simply chosen for her task of breaking and entering. Even her makeup, while still holding on to that dark and gloomy aesthetic she preferred, had somehow a more mature element to it. She was holding her camera in her hands, searching for something, someone? Wait, if she was here… it meant she’d heard of him, but hadn’t know it _was_ him. Considering his small benediction, it was hard to believe that god would smile on the spawn of Satan, metaphorically speaking though it was quite possible that could be just as apt literally, but Beetlejuice was not about to punch Fortune in the jaw. Not tonight, not when he’d been so long deprived of her just looking at her was enough for him to start drooling. Magic drool, always fun

Alright Juice, she’s here, you haven’t seen her in like… forever. But you can still salvage the situation, all ya have to do, is act natural.

“Babes?” smooth… But really, what could he say? The love of his afterlife was standing here before him again after all the hell he’d put her through in their single year of marriage and after all this time spent apart, spent longing and pining here she was again before him like a miracle straight out of heaven and he was supposed to be all suave and charming? Maybe questioning if it was her would break the spell, but he couldn’t spend his existence dreaming because he knew it would end. Better to end it now, while his hurt could be slightly more transient.

No. No, no, no. He couldn’t be here. He just couldn’t. She was supposed to be over him, supposed to be moving on. Supposed to not have to deal with him ever again! She wasn’t some teenage girl anymore, she was a grown woman who had experienced heartbreak and had come out the other side stronger and supposedly wiser. She should hate the very sight of him, she shouldn’t be standing here with her jaw slightly dropped and her heart ready to pound its way out of her chest. Lydia’s grip tightened on her camera like it was a lifeline, which it was. She took a deep breath in and let out a slow exhale as she tried to sort through her thoughts. He had asked if it was her, she had asked if it was really him. But it had to be him, he was the only one who had ever called her babes. There was no mistaking the nickname or the gruff tone of his voice. The way that rasp of his still sent shivers down her spine. She was weak, she could feel it as a low heat coiled in the pit of her stomach. And despite how he’d hurt her, he’d been her first love, and a part of her would always love him.

“Y-yeah,” she answered, “It’s me.”

“You…” he stared at her some more, “It’s really you,” he stood from his seat and floated over to her, “It’s been so long…” a hand reached out and she instantly flinched away.

“I meant what I said back then Beetlejuice,” her voice came out cold, colder than she had perhaps intended. But that was when she really remembered all the hurt she’d experience because of him. The weeks of inconsolable grief, it had been like losing Dead Mom all over again. But she had forced him away, because he had left her no other choice, “Don’t touch me,”

“It’s been forever and a day since I last saw ya and i can’t even get a hug?” Beetlejuice asked her, “Seriously?”

Anger was good, anger would keep her from making the mistake of letting him into her heart again. And he did make it so easy to be mad at him, “After the shit you pulled on our goddamn anniversary of all days, you expect me to have just moved on and forgiven you?” she asked him in response, “What the hell are you even doing here? Have you been stalking me this whole time?”

“You really think if I’d been able to get back to you before I would have waited this long to say something?” Beetlejuice asked her in response, “And why not, it’s been like what- a couple months since it happened?”

“Try almost three years,” Lydia deadpanned, raising a brow at him.

“Even more reason for it to be over and done with,” Beetlejuice stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at her.

“You don’t even know how long it’s been since we’ve last seen each other, and you have the gall to say that I should have forgiven you by now?” Lydia shook her head at him incredulously, “You fucked up that day Beetlejuice,” Lydia told him, “You fucked up real big, and no amount of sandworm related matricide heroics could ever repair the damage you caused. I forgave you the first time you put me through hell,” she shook her head again, “I wasn’t gonna do it again.”

“And I told you plenty of times why I didn’t see things the way you did,” Beetlejuice was growing slightly exasperated with her, “But-”

“I don’t want to hear any of it,” Lydia held up a hand to stop him, “No lies, no excuses, none of it!” she took another deep breath and sighed, calming herself, “Sorry about the outburst,” she apologized, “Residual anger since I never got to yell at you to your face. Really though, I’m fine, I’m over it. But I’m not ready to be friends again. Whatever you’re doing here on my campus, it’s none of my business. I’ll just stay away from Carter Hall from here on in.”

She turned to leave and he felt like he was losing her all over again, “Lydia wait!”

Lydia hated that his frantic call caused her to pause. That it set her heartbeat racing yet again. She wasn’t some naive child, there was no way he would ever speak to her with impassioned words of regret and realization. Even if he did, what response could she possibly have for him? An apology could never mend what had been so thoroughly broken. A declaration of romance was wonderful to read about, but scarcely practical. He had already hurt her twice. She would truly be the biggest fool to let him do it again.

In the end, the dilemma didn’t matter. Because the words that came out of his mouth were not ones of an impassioned suitor desperately seeking her hand, her heart, and her forgiveness. It was more akin to the dark suitor’s proposition; both a threat and a promise. And it should have scared her. But the only thing that scared her was her body’s own reaction. Trying to muster up some semblance of impassiveness Lydia spared him a glance over her shoulder as she ducked back in through the window, “I meant what I said Beetlejuice,” she told him, “I don’t want anything to do with you anymore. So either leave me alone, or I’ll see to it your ass is the one that ends up in the soul box next time.”

Perhaps he should have more carefully thought through his interactions with Lydia. But he’d been running without a thought aside from the one realization that Lydia was back and more beautiful than ever. That he’d been granted a second chance and that instead of apologizing like he had originally promised he would, he was acting as though her being back at his side was already a foregone conclusion. Their connection had been severed, but there was no denying the chemistry they still shared. He didn’t care that he’d hurt her, not when he could make it up. But he couldn’t do that if she wanted nothing to do with him. A tragic thought, especially considering they’d been married first, she was his, and he’d claimed her in every sense of the word. Three years was nothing, certainly not enough to forget all the things, all the ways he could make her feel. He certainly hadn’t forgotten the things and ways she’d made _him_ feel. And her threat, her cute little threat. Still as vindictive when she felt wronged as ever. It was criminal how attractive he found it. She could work out all that aggression on him, preferably naked as they broke those damn cheaply made dorm beds. He said nothing in response to it, too caught up in the fantasy of a return to form in angry makeup sex, and the sight of her ass as she wiggled through the open window space. And he waited for her to dip completely out of the building before deciding to follow her. Carter Hall be dammed, he had a new place to lurk, and that would be the dorm room where Lydia had set up shop.

Beetlejuice walked off the ledge of the building and floated down, trailing just far enough after her that she wouldn’t be able to sense him. He watched her disappear into a dorm room and hovered as he waited for her to finish going to bed. Once he was confident that she was soundly asleep he phased through the door and stood watch over her, still so beautiful, especially now that that irritated little furrow between her brows was gone. He smiled, and reached out to brush a lock of hair from her head when he paused. She had said she didn’t want him touching her, so he was going to make her beg for it first. Until then, he spotted the oversized oval mirror she’d hung in her otherwise sparsely decorated single dorm and settled inside it.

“Night babes,” he bid her, “I letcha get away from me once, and I ain’t gonna let it happen again. Prepare yourself, because I’m gonna make it up to you,”

And blowing a kiss, his visage disappeared from sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading, until next time Netherlings!


	3. Try to Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey babes and ghouls, sorry this took so long but I am not dead and I did not forget/abandon this story. I've just had other projects on my mind. With that said, hope you find this chapter worth the wait. Enjoy!

It was easy to figure out that despite what she'd asked of him, he was haunting her. It wasn't like he'd made it a big secret either. She'd woken up the next morning to find his visage staring back at her as opposed to her own reflection. When she’d angrily demanded to know what the hell he was doing in her mirror, he’d told her that he had a lot to make up for, and that he couldn’t do it and still abide by the never seeing her again part. Lydia had been torn between being touched and being aggravated. Because on the one hand, he wanted to make amends with her, but on the other, it kind of hurt that he still thought what he had done was something that could be forgiven. The resulting conflict of emotions had left her with a dark glare aimed at him. Which of course he had just laughed off as he followed her around campus the entire day. Lydia had to admit, he did liven things up, pretty incredible for a dead guy. Mostly by making faces and emulating the professor with pompous and overexaggerated motions behind him. Lydia found it hard to keep a straight face through the lecture because of that. And she hated that he could still make her laugh. After all he’d done, all she’d had to work through to get rid of her baggage, he should not have been able to make her smile. But there was just something so innocuous and charming about his antics that made it impossible not to laugh, or at the very least smile.

Even so, she shouldn’t make this easy for him. She’d been burned before. She had already made up her mind that it had to end. But he seemed determined to make it impossible to ignore him. He trailed along after her, chattering endlessly as she attempted to fruitlessly ignore him. He chattered to her as she sat alone in the dining hall, pushing the mediocre food she paid way too much to be able to eat around on her plate. As she scraped the food into the trash and headed back out the door she noticed some sort of social mixer being advertised by one of the many clubs on campus. Now there was an idea, wasn’t there? Perhaps if she managed to bring someone back to her dorm, prove that she was over him -by being under someone else- he would get the hint and leave her alone. She’d just have to reach out and make sure that her kind of audience was going to be there.

Lydia was not a ready made taste. She was an acquired one and she knew that. It didn’t drive away all suitors who had a goth fetish, but it did drive most of the posers away when they couldn’t deal with her personality not matching their expectations of a stereotypical girl who dressed in all black and was allegedly into kinky sex. But, she’d managed to attract a couple of suitors across the spectrum. The question was, which one to flirt with tonight. It would have to be someone who could piss off Beetlejuice, so more normie than not. But he couldn’t be _too_ normal because Beetlejuice would never believe she’d go for someone like that. Any of her female interests were out of the question for the night, she knew any hint of girl on girl action would do the opposite of drive him away, which negated the whole point of flirting in the first place. Lydia thought about the suitors she had and eventually settled on one, Evan Crosswood. He was a bit of a prep with more interests than polo and golf. Having come from a rich family he was majoring in business or finance, Lydia honestly didn’t remember which. Mainly because he didn’t like to remember. Evan was not like the rest of his uppercrust family, he liked being down to earth, connecting with people. Most importantly, he loved to make people laugh. He wanted to be a comedian, to use his privileged upbringing to bring humor that might inspire change in the world. In short, he would be the perfect person to show Beetlejuice that her tastes had changed for the better and that it was fruitless for him to continue pursuing her.

Pulling out her phone she shot him a message, asking if he had heard about the gathering. When he responded in the affirmative, and asked her why she was inquiring, Lydia responded the quip that she wouldn’t be going unless she had confirmation that there was going to be at least one person who wouldn’t make her want to drink herself to death at this thing. Evan had sent her a laugh and told her he was planning on being there, especially now that he knew she was interested in going. Perfect, Lydia couldn’t help her smirk as she set her phone aside. She would be able to move on once and for all once she convinced Beetlejuice she no longer needed nor wanted him. Not when she had someone else who had filled his place just as easily as he’d claimed he could fill hers.

But of course, Beetlejuice didn’t miss a thing. Which meant that he noticed her reaction to the messages on her phone. Hovering over her shoulder as she set the device aside he whispered in her ear,

“What’s the smile for babes?” in that same low gravelly tone that shouldn’t still have held the power to send shivers down her spine, “Got a hot date or somethin’?”

“Or something,” Lydia responded noncommittally turning to the stacks of homework she had. She wanted the weekend completely free to make all kinds of bad decisions due to alcohol and her desire to show Beetlejuice she was over him regardless of whether she really was or not.

“Tell me it’s a hot chick,” Beetlejuice begged, “Please tell me you’re bisexual and into hot ladies as much as I am and you’re gonna go bang a hot chick,”

“While that may in fact be the first time I’ve ever heard you say the word please _ever_ , I will regretfully have to disappoint you,” Lydia replied, “I’m not hooking up with a hot chick,”

“An ugly chick then?” Beetlejuice offered, “I’m not particularly picky because girl on girl shit is always hot.”

“You have the mental faculties of a rhombus,” Lydia told him, “Lopsided and horny at all points,”

“Aww,” he sighed affectionately, “You always know how to make a demon feel special dontcha?”

“That wasn't a compliment,” Lydia rolled her eyes at him.

“Neither was the bloated zebra comment and yet it was still super sweet, and I _hate_ sweet,”

That made Lydia pause, “You _remember_ that?”

She honestly hadn't expected him to. Considering how many other things she’d said to him that had been lost to oblivion, this was surprising to say the least.

“‘Course I do,” Beetlejuice scoffed, “It’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me… well, it was up until I had ya screamin’, but those ain't words so we don't count that.”

Lydia flushed, both angry and embarrassed, “You know, you make it so hard to _not_ regret doing anything with you.”

“All the best fun should come with regrets Baby,” he winked at her, “And I'm about as fun as it gets.”

Lydia sighed, knowing she couldn't exactly argue that. Phenomenal cosmic powers and a complete flagrance and disrespect for rules? Yeah, that was perhaps the ultimate definition of fun. And she hadn't exactly been having the time of her life without him either. But she wasn't about to feed his ego so directly. The man might be able to take insults as compliments but that didn't mean she was about to do the work for him.

“Sure, sure you are,” Lydia remarked, sarcasm clearly obvious, even knowing he would be willfully obtuse to take it as a genuine compliment.

He was just like that unfortunately, could never a hint when he wasn’t wanted. Or at the very least, he couldn’t take the hint and follow it. Which was why he hung around so much and it had taken a near life-taking ritual to finally make him get it. No! No, Lydia wasn’t going to think on the fact that he hadn’t even bothered to try and come back to her in the years he’d been gone. She didn’t care what he said, he was an expert in lying after all. Well, it didn’t matter, all Lydia needed to do was tolerate him until the party and not get used to having him around again. Because once he saw that she’d fully moved on he’d finally leave her alone. And that was what she wanted… right?

BJ BJ BJ

As the days passed, even if only in a week, Lydia became less and less sure of that. The lewd jokes and innuendos were something that she had reluctantly missed, the digs and burns that came so naturally to him. She’d missed the sounds of screams that accompanied her as she wandered around, gloomy and morose and perfectly content with her third party perceived solitude. He was recreating what things had been like before it had all broken, minus the slight hiccup of them being physically intimate. Since she had asked him not to touch her, he hadn’t. But that in and of itself was evidence that what had happened had rendered their relationship broken beyond repair. Never again could they share the easy camaraderie they had, never again could she entertain the sort of naivete and childish love she’d once held for him. It would forever be tainted and tempered by his actions on their first anniversary. What had been done could never be undone, and it could never be fixed either. And more so the fool she was if she simply forgot what he had done. Even though the nostalgia of what had been was her own serpent, tempting her. But she was not as innocent as Eve, she’d been once tempted before, and she’d paid the price. Never again.

So at best, all she could do was simply put up with his presence, and ignore it whenever possible and convenient. And then, Friday. The day of brief and momentary liberation, made all the sweeter by the promise of a return come Monday morn. Lydia had worked it out so that she only took classes Mondays through Thursdays, and had a three day weekend as a buffer. On most weeks, it was primarily to get homework done at some point. Sometimes it was to crank it all out Thursday evening into Friday morning so she could spend the weekend sleeping, sometimes it was so she could tackle larger assignments at a pace that didn’t make her want to tear her hair out, or sometimes it was how it was this evening. Lydia had pulled an all nighter the night before, but she was done and could get properly wasted this evening without having to nurse a hangover and deal with homework. Foresight would serve her well, even if it left her reaching for the concealer for her dark circles when her all day nap let her waking up at 4 that afternoon.

Adam and Barbara had often described that being dead didn’t truly feel any different from feeling alive. At least, it didn’t in their experience. But then, they’d died in a relatively painless way compared to some of the ways to end a life Lydia knew about. Even so, she felt like death warmed over as she woke up, her body hated her for pulling what was in essence all part of the college experience. Lydia yawned, barely noticing whatever stupid, lewd, or both comment Beetlejuice made about her attire from inside her mirror. She didn’t know why he preferred that spot out of all of them in her room, but since he took up less space there, she supposed it was fine. And yes, she knew that she slept in an oversized t-shirt, soft and down on her thighs, not quite skimming the tops of her knees. Beetlejuice was under the impression she’d stolen it from some poor poser she’d dated in an effort to forget him, and she was content to let him stew in those thoughts of jealousy for now. She wasn’t doing him any favors, especially not stroking his ego by telling him she hadn’t dated anyone since they’d ended their sham of a marriage. Sure, it would be fun to throw up in his face that he’d made her unable to trust or get close to anyone romantically ever again, but the man took every insult as a compliment, and he wouldn’t focus on the fact that he’d hurt her severely, only that he’d ruined her for any other men, and a couple of women too.

Lydia grabbed her shower bag and headed for the coed bathrooms. Everyone was thankfully not an asshole and wore towels when wandering around so it wasn’t as if she didn’t have to see anything she didn’t want to see, and her letch of an ex-husband could perv on college girls to his beatless heart’s content. Truly, stalking her was a win-win for him wasn’t it? Why the hell did everything have to work out in that damn demon’s favor? It was these thoughts and more Lydia mulled over as she made use of the college’s unending supply of hot water and simply stood there under the spray. Whatever the reason, showers were the perfect place to collect one’s thoughts, or let out any emotions they couldn’t share with others. And that was what Lydia did, assuring herself that she would turn the tables on him, get rid of him once and for all and maybe then she could finally move on with the rest of her life having attained closure if not some measure of peace. She ignored the pang in her heart as she reminded herself of all he had done, all he could do if she made the mistake of letting him back in once again. The fact that what he had done had still hurt years later meant that she still cared in some small amount, and caring would open her back up to being hurt once again. Dead Mom’s departure and failure to show was like a scar, a wound that had bled out and healed over, leaving only a faint reminder of what once had been. Beetlejuice’s actions were a wound that was still open; bloody and disgusting and weeping. She had managed to staunch the flow but the nerve endings were still firing off and had only recently begun to dim to a dull and omnipresent but mostly ignorable ache. And tonight, she would finally make it stop hurting once and for all.

The plan was simple. As simple as could be accounted for when throwing Beetlejuice into the mix. She would go to the mixer, drink enough that she couldn’t see straight, and hook up with Evan long enough to get rid of her pesky little demon problem. Depending on how long that took, she would kick Evan out of her room the next morning, take a shower to wash off the filth and shame of tonight’s actions, and move on. Time would pass, she would pass off her liaison with her friend as a product of drunken mistake, and if he wouldn’t let that slide she would pointedly ignore him until graduation where they would go their separate ways for good. Really, it was brilliant, ingenious in its simplicity. She finished freshening up, taking care with all aspects of her appearance, smooth as silk skin shaven and moisturized where needed, the good underwear stashed beneath her supplies so that she didn’t have to hear Beetlejuice running off his mouth at her appearance, her planned outfit for the evening already hanging up in her closet where she would be changing so as to minimize his peeping tom tendencies. Would it stop him if he truly wanted to see her? No, but it gave her a semblance of control changing in the complete darkness where it would marginally more difficult to see her clearly, regardless of just how tiny that marginality was.

Beetlejuice’s new favorite pastime was watching Lydia exist and brightening up her otherwise dull and gloomy life. Seems in the years he’d been gone she’d forgotten how much life there was to be had with the dead. Not that doom and gloom wasn’t fucking gorgeous on her, but still, she could smile a bit more. Inwardly he knew the reason she didn’t smile as much was partly due to him and what he’d done, but still. Time moved on, and he would make her smile again even if it cost him a one way ticket to the lost souls’ room. He swore he would do it. He had seen her crack a couple, amused by his antics since she was the only one who could see him doing anything at this point, with the rumors of the ghost of Carter Hall dissipating once he and Lydia had reunited there weren’t any truly supernaturally inclined schmucks that could see him. But that was besides the point. The point was that Lydia was behaving strangely. She’d spent all night the night before doing homework, crashed sometime earlier this morning, and now that she’d finally woken up she was taking extra care with her appearance. He wondered if it had anything to do with the reason she’d been smiling earlier that week. Bad enough she had that stupid t-shirt from whatever loser she’d tried to replace him with, now he was certain she was trying to see someone else. Well not if he had anything to say about it. He’d finally gotten Lydia back in his afterlife and he wasn’t about to let some living tool encroach on his territory. Lydia was _his_ , no one else’s. But apparently she needed to be reminded of that as she came out of the closet looking like she was out to get some. Well if some was what she wanted he was right here and more than willing to help out in that department.

“I’m repeating myself I know but what’s with the getup tonight babes?” he asked her, “You’re dressed to kill, and lucky for me, I’m already dead.”

“There’s a mixer going on tonight,” Lydia told him as she applied her makeup, a deep maroonish brown that brought out the shade of her eyes, “I’m meeting a friend there for drinks.”

“Just a friend?” Beetlejuice asked, folding his arms as he stared at her. She wouldn’t be putting in this much effort for her appearance if he was, “I highly doubt that.”

“And I highly doubt it’s any of your business anymore,” Lydia countered, moving on to dusting the blush on her cheeks.

“I think it’s a pretty damn big deal who my wife intends to fuck tonight,” Beetlejuice groused at her.

“And I think you’re not only being pretty presumptuous considering we’re the afterlife equivalent of divorced,” Lydia shot back at him, “You’re also being pretty presumptuous about what I intend to do with any such friend. Evan is just a friend.”

“Just a friend,” Beetlejuice snorted, “Right,”

“And if I recall,” Lydia put a finger to her lip in thought, tapping it and relishing the way he stared at the action perhaps a bit too much, “ _You_ started out as just a friend too Beej, and you know what they say about stones and glass houses and all that.”

“That it’s a stupid fuckin’ idea to build a house out of an easily breakable material and anyone dumb enough to do it deserves to have a rock through their window?”

“No,” Lydia sighed, “It’s that you can’t talk when you were in the exact same situation as him. Evan is nice, and he’s a really good friend and I’ll thank you to keep your stupid accusations to yourself. It’s drinks and some socialization, something I clearly need more of since outside of class the only person I’ve talked to all week is you.”

“Not my fault I’m the most interesting person in your life,” Beetlejuice shrugged, “You and me aren’t meant for this world. You’ve got one foot in the grave already, always have. And you think some lame ass living prick is gonna be able to satisfy you the way I can?”

“I think the fact that I own an oversized men’s shirt is answer enough to your question, isn’t it?” Lydia shot back at him.

“But’cha ain’t with him anymore, now are ya?” Beetlejuice countered, a smug smirk stretched across his face.

“And whose fault is that!” Lydia yelled at him before she could help herself. It didn't matter that it was technically a lie, well the former boyfriend part at least, there had been too much truth to it for Lydia to be comfortable with. The fact that Beetlejuice had so thoroughly wrecked her emotionally she had a hard time letting anyone in, let alone as close to her heart as she had let him. And it still _hurt_ damnit!

She finished applying her lipstick and set the tube down harsher than she perhaps meant to. No, she was not going to let him get under her skin tonight. She was going to go out, have a good time, have way too many drinks, and then hook up with one of her guy friends under the pretense of drunk attraction but really use it to get Beetlejuice off her back for good. Then, she was gonna send him away and live a happy quiet life on her own, maybe get a black cat and name it Percy. That was the plan for the moment, no strings, no feelings. Just soulless sex for the purpose of getting rid of a demon ex-husband. Nothing to it. Lydia got up, grabbed her keys, and headed out the door without another word. She knew she didn’t need to say anything, that Beetlejuice would follow her regardless, and she felt his gaze on her -more specifically on her ass- the entire walk across campus.

BJ BJ BJ

The party was too loud, obnoxious modern music playing with the volume turned up all the way, coupled with the sounds of tons of singular conversations happening and sprinkled over top with the raucous sounds of college drinking games being played and frat boys cheering their brothers on. The moment she walked through the door Lydia was already regretting the decision to go. But simply meeting up with the friend she intended to turn into a friend with benefits for one night only would not have convinced Beetlejuice that she was over him. Well… maybe getting wasted in order to hit on her friend so he could go back to her place wasn’t the best route to go either but Lydia didn’t currently have any other ideas so plan a it was. Drinks were poured and taken down and the cycle repeated itself. Lydia talked with Evan and danced and flirted, all the while doing her best to ignore the invisible eyes that were on her everywhere. She hoped he enjoyed the show, as it was the last one he was ever going to get. The hours passed, the party began to wind down, and people all over the place were either pairing up and finding a room or trickling out the door, single or otherwise. As brave as the shameless demon poltergeist had made her, Lydia wasn’t about to be the one to make the first move with Evan. This was all a ploy to get Beej off her back… but then again, wouldn’t taking another guy back to her dorm with her be exactly the sort of message she wanted to send?

“Hey,” Lydia whispered to Evan, the music still ear splittingly loud despite the lack of people it needed to be heard over, “Do you… wanna get out of here?”

Evan might have been drinking, but the man could take a hint. She was finally giving him a chance to get out of the friendzone and he was taking it,

“Sure,” he whispered back to her, sliding an arm through hers and looping it around the curve of her waist. They quickly made their escape, Lydia drunkenly laughing and giggling alongside him.

But just as they reached the halfway point between her dorm and the party, he stopped, grip on her wrist keeping her leashed to him. Lydia turned to him, afraid for a moment Evan had changed his mind, because while she would be disappointed if he had it wouldn’t be for the reasons he would likely think. Beetlejuice had already been following them thus far, looking a mix between amused and slightly irritated. He really thought she wouldn’t do what she said she was going to do, that she wouldn’t be able to prove to him that she’d moved on. Well he’d been wrong and soon he would see just how wrong he was. But her eyes searched Evan’s, pointedly ignoring Beej’s apparition at the other man’s shoulder.

“Cute babes,” he folded his arms at her, “Now ditch the loser and let’s go have some _real_ fun.”

But Lydia’s attention was focused on Evan as he pulled her closer and then kissed her. Lydia’s eyes went wide for a moment before they closer and she let herself go limp in Evan’s grasp. He was a good kisser, she’d give him that, and he tasted like cheap beer and the lingering scent of the cigarettes he sometimes smoked was etched into his clothing. It felt almost like home, especially when he pinned her against a darkened lecture hall building. Lydia’s hands carded through his hair, fingers twined in tufts of hair. Idly she felt his hands wandered down her form, settling about her hips for a moment before sweeping over her ass and then hoisting her up with the building supporting her from the back. As they continued to kiss she felt the evidence of Evan’s desire right there at that aching center between her legs, and it felt so _good_. And yet… Lydia cracked one eye open to see Beetlejuice still there, hovering scant inches off the ground, arms still folded and now looking decidedly less amused and definitely more annoyed. But the heat of anger in his gaze sent a bolt of lust shooting through her. Jealous, he was _jealous_ , the same feeling she’d felt whenever she’d smelled the scent of hookers and cheap Netherworld booze rolling off of him when he returned home. Suddenly, she was more determined than ever to see her plan through, not to get rid of Beetlejuice, but to see what he’d do, to hurt him as he’d hurt her so many times before.

Lydia Deetz could forgive, but what had her ex-husband ever done to prove he was worthy of it or that he deserved it? Not a damn thing. This was the most emotional she’d seen him in a long time, reminiscent of when she had him on his knees begging for her the first time they’d met. How long had it been since she’d had this kind of power over him? Too long, and she’d missed it, god how she’d _missed_ it.

But it idly occurred to her if she didn’t put this on pause at least for the moment she was liable to get fucked against the wall in a very public place. And she didn’t do public unless there was absolutely no chance she could be caught. She already had one voyeur, she wasn’t about to top it with exhibitionism just yet. So she broke apart, panting for breath while Evan started peppering kisses down the column of her neck. This felt less good and more a bit annoying, though perhaps that was because he was using just a bit too much teeth. This was a one time deal, she didn’t need hickeys from him. So the hands in his hair gently pried him away from her skin, with her resting her forehead against his to prevent him from moving while she continued to pant against him. Something about his body language told her he was so aroused that he was confused as to why she’d stopped him, apparently having forgotten exactly where they were.

“My place,” she whispered raggedly against him, “Let’s go back to my place,”

“Oh,” it took him a moment to process it, “Right, let’s go,”

Beetlejuice was noticeably absent from the air around them, with Lydia unable to even feel his presence. There was an idle sense of cold and loneliness she forgotten with his return that she had once gotten accustomed to. And how much it had taken for that to happen. But Lydia tamped it down, if he couldn’t stand the heat, that was his problem, Lydia just wished she wouldn’t make it hers as well.

BJ BJ BJ

They somehow made it back to her dorm room, where clothes were shed like molted old skin. Lydia landed with her back against the squeaky spring mattress which probably hadn’t seen this much action since she’d taken this room. The sensation of being watched emanating from her mirror infinitely more arousing than anything her current partner was attempting to do to get her off. Jesus, did Evan just let all his partners do the work for him? Or was this yet another case of riches do most of the work so he never learned how to please anyone besides himself? Oh dear lord she was thinking about it too much again, and this was part of the reason she never crossed the line of flirtation with most of these people, because even if it was a one and done situation, she was left with all the revelations about these people she otherwise wouldn’t have even bothered to consider. And then she was reminded of them every single time she saw them again and since a lot of these people shared the same classes as her -how she met them in the first place- it was usually too risky to consider.

Beyond all that, the fact that it was more her ex-husband’s jealous gaze that was turning her on rather than anything her partner was doing was proof too strong to deny. She was still stuck on him, and her heart changed as she realized just how selfish it was to use someone who was her friend in a twisted power play between Beetlejuice and herself. Evan didn’t deserve that. He was one of the few nice people in the world, and here she was taking advantage of that. No more was she the selfish little girl ready to throw herself off a roof to spite her father for moving on too quickly. So Lydia, now down to nothing but her bra and panties, put a hand to Evan’s chest,

“Wait, stop,” she said quietly. When it seemed he hadn’t heard her, she pressed again and repeated herself, louder than before, “Evan, I said stop!”

When he paused for a moment before attempting again this time he incited her ire. Lydia didn’t care if he was drunk or what, no meant no.

“ _STOP_!” and with a shove that honestly had more force than she should have been capable of. Lydia sent him tumbling to the dorm room floor.

The shock seemed to snap Evan out of it. And he peered up at her in the darkness. But he seemed mad, “Lydia what the hell!”

“I-” Lydia felt timid and meek, like she deserved this for leading him on and being unable to commit to what she had set out to do, “I’m sorry alright? I thought I wanted this,”

She slipped beneath the blankets and brought her knees up to her chest, curling herself around them as though they’d help hold her world together. But that seemed to be what brought Evan out of his anger. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, buttoning the open fly of his jeans as he regarded her,

“No,” he shook his head, “I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I know better than that. You said no, that should have been enough. I was just… so excited, I thought that maybe after all this time, we-”

“I know,” Lydia bit her lip, “But please believe me when I say that this isn’t because of you,”

“Please tell me you’re not using the old ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line on me,” Evan countered, “I know you can do better than that.”

“Can I if that’s what the truth is?” Lydia asked him as she shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

“What do you mean by that?” Evan asked her, settling down at the end of the bed, close enough to talk but too far to really provide comfort. Lydia didn’t exactly blame him, he’d gotten rejected in the middle of sex. There was bound to be some bitterness, even if he was being better about it than most guys.

“I just…” how to explain this.

“Is there someone else?” Evan pressed.

Lydia looked up only just long enough to answer him, “There was,” she replied softly, casting her gaze away even though her eyes were automatically drawn to the mirror where she was sure Beetlejuice was watching this whole thing play out.

“Was?”

“It’s a long story,”

“Well, the short version seems to be that you still have feelings for them, whoever this person is,” Evan said, reaching for his shirt and slipping it over his head, “And you thought I would be a good… what? Substitute? Replacement? Were you going to have this conversation with me after you awkwardly screamed their name instead of mine?”

“Evan, please,”

“No,” he cut her off, holding a hand up to silence her, “Lydia, I really like you, but I’m not dumb enough to think that playing second fiddle to whoever’s in your heart would make either of us happy. In fact, I shouldn’t have been dumb enough to go with you when you’ve been drinking all night just to work up the nerve for it. You’re not so timid if you really like someone, you’re blunt, and honest, and that’s what I like about you,”

“I like you too Evan,” Lydia offered.

“I know,” Evan replied, “But not in the way I like you, not in the way I _want_ you to like me.”

“I could,” she whispered, knowing she never would have considered him for this plan if she didn’t hold more affection for him than most.

“But you don’t,” Evan countered, “At least not now. And more to the point, do you even _want_ to?”

“What?”

“Exactly,” Evan shook his head, “You’re a great girl Lydia,” he said, finding his shoes and toeing them on, “But I don’t think you even know _what_ you want. And until you do,” he shrugged, “I’m gonna head back to my dorm. But just so you know, who ever it is that has your heart, they're a lucky son of a bitch.”

“Evan,” Lydia said as he walked for the door, “I’m sorry,” whether she was apologizing for using him, or potentially forever wrecking their friendship, even she didn’t know.

Evan paused in the doorway, the hall light silhouetting his figure with shadow. Pity that wasn’t a thing like what he was actually like, “Me too Lydia,” he offered, “Me too.”

Then he walked out the door, and it clicked shut behind him. For a long moment Lydia sat there, dry sobbing into her knees. Less for what she had done to Evan and more in self-hatred that she had allowed herself to sink to the level of pulling the same sort of bullshit Claire Brewster would have. When had she lost sight of who she was, how she handled her problems? She thought she’d grown out of the little girl who’d run into the Netherworld looking for her mommy. The girl who ran away from her problems. Where was the Lydia who’d conned Beetlejuice into marrying her so she could kill him? Who _was_ she anymore?

She knew the minute he left the mirror to come stand before her. She could feel the shift in the currents as keenly as the proximity of his spectral presence. At least she hadn’t lost _that_ part of herself she thought bitterly. But Lydia refused to look at him, beyond a cursory glance at the dingy stripes as they stood out in the dim light of the moon that cast bluish pools against her floor. She adamantly refused to meet his eyes, afraid of the expression that was likely waiting her,

“If you’re just here to gloat then you can fuck off,” she spat at him. She knew she was low for doing any of this. She didn’t need him laughing about how she couldn’t go through with fucking another man because she obviously wasn’t over him despite what she’d claimed. She just didn’t have the strength to deal with him _and_ her own self-loathing tonight.

But rather than say anything, Lydia felt something soft land on top of her, followed by the pressure of a hand at her head through the fabric. Lydia looked up to see Beetlejuice, sans striped jacket, patting her on the head. She sniffed and wiped at her eyes, smudging her makeup,

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“Y’said y’still didn’t want me touchin’ ya jus’ yet,” he reminded her, “So this is the best I can do for right now,”

“But you’re still touching me,” she pointed out, a weak smile forming despite herself.

“No,” he corrected, “I’m touching my jacket, which just so _happens_ t’be resting on you,”

“Ah, yes, that makes _much_ more sense,” Lydia rolled her eyes without any malice. In truth, she was grateful for the attempt at comfort, especially when he could have been laughing his ass off at her right now, and the version of him she still remembered likely would have.

“I told ya babes,” Beetlejuice said as he sat down beside her, “I found ya again, ain’t nothin’ that’s gonna drive me away. Even if ya die, I’ll be right there forever.”

“You once promised me forever,” Lydia murmured, “How can I know you mean it this time?”

“You don’t,” he answered her, “T’s why they call it a leap of faith,”

“And too many leapers end up splattered across the ground,” Lydia remarked.

“That’s my babes,” Beetlejuice chuckled as he settled in next to her, slinging an arm around her as he scooched her over on the bed so he could fit too, “Always lookin’ on the bright side,”

And this time, he did get her to laugh. But as though letting one emotion happen she broke the dam and began to cry. With crossed arms clutching at the sides of his jacket she began to sob, crying for the wasted and lonely years, for even pretending she hadn’t missed them when fate had finally deigned to let them reunite. She recalled him saying he hadn’t been able to go back to the house in Winter River, and she was finally ready to believe it. Whatever magic she had pulled, she hadn’t fully understood herself. It was entirely plausible the spell had been crafted for two people who never wanted to see each other again. But rather than ask him about it she just continued to cry, and Beetlejuice just settled her into his side, jacket covering her top half and blankets covering the rest, and let her do it; only a single hand running up and down her back the indication he was still there. He didn’t try to talk, didn’t try to make her talk, he just let her be, and Lydia hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that.

She cried and cried until there was nothing left to cry; at which point, exhausted by the booze and the emotional upheaval, she fell asleep. Beetlejuice, mindful of the fact that he couldn’t share a bed with his wife without wanting to do something in it but recognizing they were in no way shape or form ready for that yet, slipped out from under her and returned to the mirror; smiling at the sleeping damsel wrapped in his fabric embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, with this done we're just one chapter away from the finish line. Hope you guys are ready for that. Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you all next time Netherlings!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you next time Netherlings!


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